


Pink Notes, Pink Cheeks

by gingerteaandsympathy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Tumblr: doctorroseprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 10:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17660813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerteaandsympathy/pseuds/gingerteaandsympathy
Summary: Their sleep schedules - like their lifespans - were much more similar now. But she was prone to very, very long showers in the morning, and he didn't hear the tap going. As he passed into the living room, the television wasn't on either, meaning she hadn't sprung for a midnight movie or something. Certainly not on the unexpectedly cushionless couch.He stepped into the kitchen.And there she was.And that was when he remembered the edibles.(Tentoo x Rose for Fluffy February! Inspired by the "Love Notes" prompt from doctorroseprompts on Tumblr.)





	Pink Notes, Pink Cheeks

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fun with Tentoo x Rose for Fluffy February! Inspired by the "Love Notes" prompt from doctorroseprompts on Tumblr.
> 
> There's reference to and evidence of Rose consuming cannabis, but it's not the actual content of the story. This takes place the morning after.
> 
> I own nothing, and all mistakes are my own.

**Pink Notes, Pink Cheeks**

When the Doctor woke up, something was off.

His first indication was that... well, he was waking up. He slept so rarely, and when he did, it was never for very long. But he found himself forced to stretch, his joints creaking and muscles rippling in an effort to flush away the leftover melatonin in his system. His (faint, but still present) time sense said he'd been asleep six hours - him, asleep _six hours_!

His second indication came after he'd completed his morning routine - teeth, hair, and talking himself up for yet another day of platonic bliss. (If it could be called bliss. He supposed it was as close as he could get to bliss while still remaining... platonic.)

He and Rose had been housemates for quite some time now - ever since returning through the void, they'd danced around the issue of The Kiss they'd shared on That Day. For some reason unknown to him - but he suspected it was something humany-wumany in his new biology - the Doctor had been able to bring himself to tell her he loved her. And, of course, it was perfectly true. And, of course, she'd responded deliciously. And then, nothing.

The TARDIS had dematerialized, leaving him with a chunk of future in his pocket and one Rose Tyler in his arms. The same Rose who was now _not_  in her - completely separate, not shared - bedroom, he noted, passing the empty room.

The dimension cannon had completely obliterated her internal clock, so it was uncommon for her to still be asleep when he woke. Their sleep schedules - like their lifespans - were much more similar now. But she was prone to very, very long showers in the morning, and he didn't hear the tap going. As he passed into the living room, the television wasn't on either, meaning she hadn't sprung for a midnight movie or something. Certainly not on the unexpectedly cushionless couch.

He stepped into the kitchen.

And there she was.

And that was when he remembered the edibles.

("Rose," he'd said, "it's perfectly okay to need a bit of help falling asleep." And then he'd handed her a brownie.) 

(His own recipe, not that he'd ever, _ever_ tell her he'd fudged a prescription, picked up some tincture from the dispensary, and then went home to _bake for her._ )

The kitchen was a bit of a shambles, and at the center of it all was Rose. She seemed to have made a nest for herself by the refrigerator, built out of couch cushions, pillows from her bed, and assorted blankets. Only her face poked out from the mound of fabric, her lips pursed in sleep. The entirety of her back was pressed against the refrigerator. (She did that sometimes. Just stood near the fridge and listened, pretending the hum was bigger, more sentient. He only noticed because he did it, too.)

The refrigerator, which was currently covered in sticky notes. She'd gone through a significant chunk of the notepad, and there were even a few sticky notes littered out in front of her little sleeping nook. Those had things crossed out or misspelled on them, and apparently hadn't been deemed worthy of the fridge.

The Doctor stepped closer and began removing the little pink squares for closer investigation. They were an odd amalgamation of notes, lists, and - it seemed - recipes?

Some of them were innocuous, and rather funny. For example:

 

_Bacon Wrapped Banana Bites_

_Ingredients: pack of bacon, hell of a lot of bananas_

_Instructions: no idea, probably deep fry?_

_Notes: maybe for his birthday?_

 

This was followed by another note, in all caps:

 

_ASK THE DOCTOR HIS BIRTHDAY_

 

Some of the post-it notes were a bit unfocused. 

 

_TARDIS Recipe (for future):_

_Sicilian pizza topped with those little round things that look like pomegranate nibs but taste like really fancy olives. (Doctor, what are they called? We got them on Galsec Seven.)_

 

Based on the fact that some of them were addressed to him, he knew she'd (at the time) intended him to see these.

There was a note reading, simply:

 

_Doctor, I'm really sorry._

 

He felt his lone heart twinge at that one. There was also:

 

_To do:_

_\- Call Mum_

_\- Get the TARDIS coral a tank_

_\- You can't put it off forever_

 

and

 

_To do:_

_\- Tell Doctor about Torchwood opening_

_\- Convince him to take it, he's clearly sad_

 

And then there was a note that made the manly hairs on his manly-hairy neck stand up. It just had a little doodle of a lollipop, and the lone words:

 

_chocolate-covered Doctor?_

 

This sent his heart into such a flurry of throbbing that he wondered if this was, in fact, a heart attack. His symptoms did not improve once he collected at least five notes, all saying:

 

_Tell him._

 

There were dozens more of them in the discard pile. He could just see her, sitting on the floor with a blanket over her head, scratching out note after note, all saying the same thing. The heart-rending vision was what ultimately prompted him to sit down next to her sleeping body, long limbs tangled into a cross-legged position. He watched her for a long moment - elbows on his knees, head propped in his hands - before he got up the courage to speak.

"Rose," he said finally, reaching out a hand to push back a blonde lock that had fallen over her face. The disturbance seemed to put a little wrinkle in her nose, and caused her eyelashes to flutter. He caught a hint of amber and smiled. "Hello."

When she saw him, she gave a pleasant little hum and closed her eyes again, nestling deeper into her cocoon. "Hi," she replied softly, her voice thick and syrupy with sleep. "What are you doing in the kitchen?"

With a surprised laugh, he countered, "What are _you_ doing in the kitchen?"

"Sleeping, of course," Rose said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and she went on burrowing her nose into the blanket.

His grin was wide. "Yeah? You prefer it?"

She sighed an affirmation. And then, by way of explanation, she added, "Bed's too big."

He nodded seriously. "You're telling me. My bed's a big enough property that I could build a bloody manor on the thing. Think of all the carpets," he winced. And then, mindlessly, he continued, "What can I do with so much room? I'm fine in a cupboard, me. Or a bunk." His grin widened once more. "I _love_ a bunk. I once bunked with Kurt Vonnegut. Bit of a downer, but he could certainly turn a phrase. Bit of a cuddler, too."

Rose tittered a bit at that, some of the sleepiness beginning to clear from her expression. "You're having me on!" 

"Nope," he replied, popping the 'p.' He watched her eyes dance and replied, "He was always the big spoon."

This sent Rose into a riot of giggles, pulling the blanket over her mouth to muffle the noise. "You're mad."

"I am," and because he was mad and brave and very, very full of bravado, he continued, casually, "I got your notes, by the way."

Her confusion was evident, so he began to flip through her little notes, providing some commentary. "I'm a huge fan of the bacon-and-bananas idea. I had something like it once, on Chimeria, only they haven't got the Cavendish banana there - every other kind, but no Cavendish, can you imagine?"

He flipped to another note. "I already know about the Torchwood job, but they said something about a resume, and I've never done one of those before. If you'll help me...?" He glanced up at her, but didn't wait for confirmation.

He rattled off a few other replies, all blithe and senseless, until he arrived at the last chunk of sticky notes.

"It appears that you had something you wanted to tell me." As he flipped casually through the identical notes, he tacked on, "Wanted to tell me twenty-eight times, in fact."

When he looked at her, her face was a touch pink. "I... I don't remember. I was pretty, you know... stoned."

"It seems so," he muttered, "which is odd, considering I calculated the optimum dosage, considering your species and body weight. It should have helped you sleep and have good dreams, not much else..."

Rose gulped. "Well, after you fell asleep, I sort of... well, I ate the entire plate."

 _Ah_. He hadn't even noticed the big, empty platter in the sink, amidst the sticky notes and rearranged furniture. 

His laugh was so forceful that it nearly bowled him over. He had to catch himself before his head knocked forward into hers, sending the notes fluttering out over the kitchen tile. "Rose, you greedy little monkey!" he howled. "See if I ever make you pot brownies again!"

Her eyebrows twitched in amusement. " _You_ made them?"

He wiped a hand over his face, trying to calm the laughter. "I wasn't going to tell you that. But, yes, I did."

"I wondered why they were so gooey in the middle."

"It's the best part!" he cried. But then he realized he'd gotten completely off track, lost the purpose of the entire conversation. "Anyway, are you _certain_  there's not something you want to tell me? I mean," he gestured toward the scattered notes, "it was clearly quite important to you last night that I know something. In fact, I wonder you didn't just... write it down."

This sent another blush curling up Rose's neck. She was so prone to blushing. He loved it about her - it made her a very bad liar and a very delightful truth-teller.

"Maybe I did," she replied in a small voice. "But maybe I changed my mind. Or threw away the note or something."

The Doctor didn't believe this for one second, but he decided to play along. Despite the grim weight in his chest, his tone was upbeat as he said, "Well, that's perfectly alright. I'm sure you'll remember it sometime, if it's important to you."

"Yeah," she said distractedly, "probably so." She seemed like she might attempt to retreat back into her nest, so he held out a hand.

"What do you say to breakfast and then cleaning up this mess?" he said cheerfully, stretching out his hand to her. "And then maybe we can go buy that tank, for the coral. You're right, we shouldn't put it off much longer. I don't know why we waited this long - except getting settled has been... odd, I suppose."

Her hand crept out of the blankets and snatched his. She allowed him to pull her upright, and the abrupt change sent her reeling forward into his arms with an 'oof.'

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"No trouble," he replied, eager to absolve her of any and every guilt. "That's what I'm here for. Catching you when you fall and things li..."

His voice trailed off when her arm unfolded from against his chest.

Stuck to the left sleeve of her blue sweatshirt was a pink sticky-note.

And in thick, block letters, it said:

 

_I love you, too._

 

His eyes went wide.

She glanced down, and her own eyes dilated in rapid motion, black swallowing honey-brown. Her legs lurched backwards and it seemed like she'd try to escape his grasp, but his hands flew to her waist to steady her. "Wait," he said quickly. His voice sounded rather squeaky and rather unmanly, so he cleared his throat before repeating, "Wait."

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. He watched the rapid thrum of her pulse, pounding away in her neck. He watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips, and that finally seemed to crack his composure.

His hands moved to cradle her face, thumbs on her cheeks. "Do you?" he said. His voice had never sounded so serious in his own ears.

"Yes," she whispered.

" _Me?_ "

She didn't hesitate. "You."

"I wanted..." He swallowed, tried again. "I wanted to give you time. On the beach, what he did... what I did. It wasn't fair. I don't want to... push you."

Her right hand slid down his chest, and he felt the friction echoing against his skin underneath what had suddenly become too many layers. He shivered.

Then her right hand dropped to her left sleeve. He heard the faint tug of adhesive as she removed the note from herself.

Pressed it to his chest.

It stuck over his single, beating heart like a bandage.

 

_I love you, too._

 

With her hand over the note, she leaned forward and up and into him, balanced on her bare tiptoes. 

She kissed him - not like on the beach.

It was a smaller kiss, with no desperation and infinite promise. It tasted a bit like sleep and a lot like brownie batter and mostly like Rose.

She loved him.

And she fell into his arms like he'd fallen into her life - like a crashing ship, like a shooting star, like the waves on a distant beach they'd never return to.

She loved him.

"Rose?" he said, breaking the kiss. He couldn't fathom why he was doing it, how he'd ever be able to keep from kissing her ever again.

She was beaming up at him, her lips pink and a bit swollen and delicious. "Yes, Doctor?"

"I think you forgot a note."

And he held up his hand. Stuck to his open palm was the pink sheet, saying:

 

  _chocolate-covered Doctor?_

 

Her cheeks matched the sticky-note in less than a second, and he wanted to kiss each flushed patch. Instead, he wiggled his eyebrows. "You're a proper genius, Rose Tyler."

Her tongue slipped out past her teeth as she grinned. "Quite right, too."


End file.
